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now the thoughts were grinding on, slowly and ponderously,
inside his head while he blinked at some object far away
beyond the people.

Mr. Alton was gesturing and beckoning to someone in the
crowd below him. The crowd wavered and parted there, and
Senator Tolliver was assisted to mount the baggage truck. He
shook hands with Mr. Alton and with Major Pottle. Mr.
Alton thanked Major Pottle for his kind words and said that
now he would call for a few appropriate remarks from a dis-
tinguished citizen who in the recent distressing situation had,
as always, taken a firm stand in favour of law and truth and

"The skunk," Mr. Christian said, scarcely bothering to

Mr. Alton waved his arm in the direction of the Senator.

"Which one?" Mr. Munn demanded.

" Take your pick," Mr. Christian replied glumly.

Senator Tolliver was speaking, but Mr, Munn hardly
attended to what he was saying. He was, instead, comparing
that man who now stood there on the baggage truck, some-
what stooped, sallow, greying splotchily, with the man who
had stood on the platform, under the bright bunting and the
brilliant sunshine, that day of the first rally. When Senator
Tolliver had first got up there on the baggage truck, Mr. Munn
had felt, looking at him, the firmness of the hatred within
himself. With relish, he had been aware of it, it was still
there, strong and solid and sure within, something he could
depend on and cling to, something real, the same thing which
he had help! in his mind, cherishmgly, on waking at night, as
one fingers a token or a keepsake, which is nothing in itself,
but which means the reality of one's past, the truth of one's
feelings, the fact of one's identity. The hatred was there now,
perfect and safe within, something to hold to.

For a moment or two the Senator's voice would rise, full and
sonorous and compelling as it had been that August afternoon;
then it would falter. He was afraid. Mr. Munn, looking at
him, was sure he was afraid. He could no longer look out over